"My reign is not yet over" (these words were legible in one of these inscriptions); "you live, and my power is complete...Come on, my enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives; but many hard and miserable hours must you endure until that period shall arrive."
-Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus
30 years. For 30 years I have been both the pursuer and the pursued. Chasing highs, chasing lows. Wrestling for my life with the inhumane beast that is type 1 diabetes. I have spent three decades pinning it down by the neck, grabbing its slippery tail as it tries to release itself from my grasp. I have spent nights terrified of its tapping, tapping at my parlor door - the low blood sugar alarm of a meter, the sweaty, half-blind stumblings (or crawlings) to the kitchen for juice. All for a pancreas blasted of life and stitched back together with crude Victorian instruments - the vial and syringe - wrapped in scar tissue and seeming hatred for its host.
And yet. I am still here. Still sighted. Still free of that which stalks from the shadows. For now. For who knows when the ghastly creature, the Monster, shall emerge from the mist to have his final revenge?
"But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept, and grasped to death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that irremediable ruin."
30 years. Would that some modern Prometheus soon steals the fire of a cure and carry it to us, the children with diabetes now grown. So that another 30 years do not pass lashed to the rock, the eagle of fear daily gnawing at my insides.
|Prometheus depicted in a sculpture by Nicolas-Sébastien Adam, 1762 (Louvre)|